


For Whom the Bell Tolls

by exandriantrashpanda (topothesia), videogamedoc87



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 14:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19336720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topothesia/pseuds/exandriantrashpanda, https://archiveofourown.org/users/videogamedoc87/pseuds/videogamedoc87
Summary: "I just want to be clear," Bertrand says as Lieve'tel's deft fingers make quick work of the straps on his armor and then begin work on his clothes. "I don't want to break your heart, as, alas, so many others have been left bereft by my eventual absence. Bertrand Bell is not a one woman man. I am not looking to settle down. Certainly not in...Whitestone."Lieve'tel barks out a short laugh. "I am several hundred years old. I serve the bloody Raven Queen. I am not looking to move into a primrose cottage and bake honeycakes while you pretend to slay half the monsters in Tal'Dorei. I require you for a specific purpose, and that purpose does not include conversation."





	For Whom the Bell Tolls

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Liam O'Brien for the inspiration for this.

“This bed is entirely too small for two people,” Lieve’tel says after their frantic, almost frenzied first time where they both used each other primarily to affirm that they were still alive. “One of us will have to sleep on the floor.”

 From the look she’s giving him, Bertrand knows which one of them it’s going to be. He sighs and grabs one of the small pillows -- is everything in this mansion made for gnomes? -- and gets off the bed.

 "It builds character, Master Bell," Lieve’tel says. “Something you sorely need.”

 "Uh. I...I think you could call me Bertrand after...after what we did,” Bertrand says, trying to find a comfortable spot.

 "Oh, I don't know if we're on a first name basis yet. Or ever. It's easier this way,” Lieve’tel says.

 Bertrand says nothing, simply looks up at her with one of his best winsome expressions, the one that’s gotten him out of -- and also into -- many scrapes before.

 "Oh, fine. You can come back up here if you don't drool on me. Coming back from the dead covered in shit with a rock in my head was bad enough for one day,” Lieve’tel snaps.

 He climbs on the bed and curls in on himself against the wall, his back to Lieve'tel. She sighs, and he hears her muttering _Give me strength, my lady._

 "If you could just...move over...a little..." Lieve'tel says.

 "Oh. All right."

 "No, towards me. I'm cold."

 "But why..."

 "Put your damn arms around me. Do you not understand how to cuddle?"

 Bertrand moves on instinct, his arms encircling Lieve'tel and she rolls her eyes a little when he stiffens up as her head lays on his shoulder.

 "Relax Mr. Bell. We should sleep."

 "Ah, uh yes. You're absolutely right."

 "Is something wrong?" Lieve'tel asks, trying to keep her tone patient.

"Wrong? Of course not! I have cuddled many, ah, ladies, and gentlemen, and other beings...after we...we...you know..."

 "Of course you have. I look forward to not hearing about them as we are going to sleep."

 "Oh. Right." Bertrand says with a nervous, high pitched laugh.

 Lieve’tel rolls her eyes once more, "Mr. Bell, if you ever want a chance to do this again, I suggest you cease speaking. I have had a very long and tiring day."

 "Right. Yes. I am very good at being quiet. One time, while seeking the wild werewolves of Wildmount..."

 Bertrand is cut off by Lieve'tel's hand landing firmly over his mouth. "I died today. Please don't make me wish for that to happen a second time."

 He nods, eyes wide and Lieve pats his cheek sharply, nails digging in just a little.

 "Good. Sleep well."

 "You, uh, you as well." Bertrand replies and he lays there quietly, trying to be as still as possible until he can hear Lieve'tel's breathing even out. He takes the opportunity to study her a bit more closely, making note of the long healed scars that are scattered across her pale skin.

  _I should search her clothing. See if there's anything I might want as a souvenir of this...debacle,_ Bertrand thinks, but his own exhaustion carries him off to sleep before he can get up and search the scattered garments that litter the floor.

 Lieve'tel is gone by the time Bertrand wakes up the next morning and he pushes the hint of disappointment away, pausing when he sees his clothes have been laundered while they were sleeping. He starts to get dressed, pausing when he realizes his smallclothes are...missing?

 "What in the name of Erathis?" He mutters to himself, looking through the pile and coming up empty.

 "I am retiring. Effective immediately," Bertrand mutters to himself as he puts his clothes on, wincing at the slight chafing. He manages to make it to the dining room after only getting lost twice and finally asking one of the creepy unseen servants for help.

 Lieve'tel is seated at one end of the table, picking at a bowl of oatmeal, and gives him a cool nod when he comes in.

Bertrand starts to sit next to her but stalls when she gives him a raised eyebrow and a hint of a glare. He instead finds a seat next to the gray skinned Goliath who is not quite as large as he remembers.

 "Weren't you...bigger before?" Bertrand asks as he serves himself some oatmeal.

 "What? Oh, uh yeah. It's my Titanstone Knuckles. They make me go like super big." Grog says, offering a hand to Bertrand so he can inspect the gauntlets he's wearing.

 "Well. Those are impressive," Bertrand says, trying to calculate how he can get ahold of them later. He needs a distraction. The goliath's too stupid to notice, right?

 Lieve'tel clears her throat and gives Bertrand a look, and Bertrand suddenly drops Grog's hand like it's red hot. "Well, those are fascinating. Almost as fascinating as some of my weapons."

 "Oo! You have badass weapons? Can I see?" Grog asks, bouncing in his chair like a child.

 "Oh I'm sure you wouldn't understand how they work, dear boy," Bertrand says with a chuckle which earns him another throat clear and an even more heated glare.

 "We have a training area in the basement!" Grog says. "We could spar!"

 "Well, I...I wouldn't want to hurt you," Bertrand says hastily. "And we really need to be leaving this plane, don't we?"

 "When we get back, then," Grog says.

 "Of course. Certainly. I...I would love to test your mettle,” Bertrand says.

 "Metal? Oh like my axe? Yeah!" Grog says, standing up and striding out the door where Bertrand can see the small white haired gnome is waiting.

 "Monstah!" Grog cries.

 "Buddy!" the white haired gnome calls.

 "Another monster?! Where?!" Bertrand says, his voice squeaking a little.

 "S'what I call Pike," Grog says. "Cause she's a monstahhhhh!"

 "Oh right of course. I knew that." Bertrand says and he can almost hear the eye roll from the other end of the table. He hears Lieve'tel get up, her robes rustling as he passes by him, eyes staring straight ahead. As she passes by, he sees a flash of purple satin in the top of her satchel and he makes a startled noise. _She has my underthings,_ he thinks to himself, stunned, as he watches her walk away.

 "Lieve! Lieve'tel!" Bertrand hisses, hustling to catch up with her, wincing at the aches and pains leftover from yesterday's exertion.

 "May I help you, Master Bell?" Lieve'tel says, her voice low but cool.

 "I believe...that is...perhaps there was some kind of mix up...you might have my....undergarments?" Bertrand says, trying to keep his voice from squeaking and failing.

 "I'm sure you're mistaken. What use would I have for them?"  Lieve’tel asks.

 "I don't...uh, I don't know?" Bertrand squeaks. "But I...I believe I saw them in your bag."

 Lieve'tel pats his arm, "I think your eyesight is going, Mr. Bell."

 "My eyesight is fine!" Bertrand protests.

 "Either way, we have some things to find," Lieve'tel says. "Do come along. I wouldn't want you to get left behind."

 Bertrand hesitates for a second before following her out of the mansion.

 The next few hours feel like a whirlwind; they find the thief, manage to secure their items and then barely escape with their lives. Bertrand falls to the ground when they appear back on the material plane, his chest heaving as blood drips from a wound in his forehead. He stands up, dusting himself off, and declares, "I'm retiring. You people...I...I have never met a more insane group. Goodbye. Hopefully forever."

 "Master Bell!" Lieve'tel yells after him. Bertrand keeps going. Nothing is going to stop him from getting away from this tornado of crazy.

 "Oi! Bertrand!" Lieve'tel says as she catches up to him.

 "I...uh...yes....?" Betrand says. "I have pressing business elsewhere."

 "I believe I have something that belongs to you. If you want it back, I suggest you come with me,” Lieve’tel says, her voice low.

 Bertrand feels his cheeks flush and he squirms a little, "Uh. Alright. Lead the way?"

 Lieve'tel smiles at him, an enigmatic thing that has Bertrand spellbound.  "Come along, Mr. Bell."

He follows her to the castle and up to the third floor, his hands shaking just a little as he closes the door when she asks him to.

 "Well. This will do nicely," Lieve'tel says, looking around. "Much better than yesterday's

accommodations. I think Scanlan believes everyone is gnome sized."

 "Do nicely for what, exactly?" Betrand says. "I just want my...things. And then I'll be on my way."

"I have had a very bad 48 hours, or however long it's been," Lieve'tel says as she begins to unfasten her mantle. "Constant wind, more demonic encounters than I can count on one hand, dying, being turned into a bird and then back into myself while in someone’s pants pocket, having to negotiate with a mad Githzerai, having to battle something that could take various elemental shapes, and losing a family heirloom. I require consolation."

Bertrand stands, eyes locked on the pale skin that is revealed as her mantle and then robes are draped over a chair, dust and sand already settling out of them onto the floor. She snaps her fingers and the vast majority of the dirt on her drops away and vanishes. "Uh, consolation?" he squeaks as she walks over to him, hair loose around her shoulders.

"Yes, Master Bell. So let's get you out of these clothes." Lieve'tel purrs at him, fingers already tackling the straps and buckles of his breastplate, dislodging them along with a whole lot of captured Pandemonium debris.

 "I just want to be clear," Bertrand says as Lieve'tel's deft fingers make quick work of the straps on his armor and then begin work on his clothes. "I don't want to break your heart, as, alas, so many others have been left bereft by my eventual absence. Bertrand Bell is not a one woman man. I am not looking to settle down. Certainly not in...Whitestone."

 Lieve'tel barks out a short laugh. "I am several hundred years old. I serve the bloody Raven Queen. I am not looking to move into a primrose cottage and bake honeycakes while you pretend to slay half the monsters in Tal'Dorei. I require you for a specific purpose, and that purpose does not include conversation."

“All right then." Bertrand says, voice faint, following when she grabs his hand and pulls him to the bed.

She pushes him onto his back, straddling his waist before leaning over to grab two scarves from her satchel.

"Hands up, Mr. Bell."

His hands go up automatically, and she deftly ties them to the headboard before leaning over and pulling his lost underclothes out as well. "I don't think I want any kind of audience and some of our hosts are quite perceptive, so open up."

"My lady, are...is that truly necessary?" Bertrand sputters.

"I could cast a silence spell, I suppose," Lieve'tel says, considering. "That might be more prudent. Also, then your mouth would be available for other things." She considers for another moment before waving her hands and murmuring something. "Very well. But if you annoy me too much, I'll gag you anyways, spell or no spell."

"Duly noted," Bertrand says, wondering again how he, noted adventurer and bon vivant, has somehow ended up letting a several hundred year old elf tie him to a bed after they both took a trip through Pandemonium. Perhaps this is all a dream. Or a hallucination. Or he’s still in that blasted hell dimension.

She shifts forward until she's hovering above his face, her grin mischievous. "I didn't get to test out all your skills last night. Seems a waste. I do hope your mouth is good for something other than bragging about your imaginary adventures."

"Imaginary?! I assure you--" he's cut off by her fingers closing his jaw.

"Remember what I said; I will gag you; now be a good boy and put that silver tongue to use."

"I...um..." Bertrand says, swallowing nervously.

"Oh, what now?" Lieve'tel says crossly.

"It may have...been a while...since I've done this...?" Bertrand says.

"Oh, Lady, grant me patience," Lieve'tel snaps. "Just...follow instructions. Do you think you can do that?"

Bertrand nods, a little frantically, and Lieve'tel sighs once more, one hand gripping a fistful of his silver hair. "Snap your fingers if you can't breathe; otherwise just be a good boy and I promise I'll think about letting you come."

"Uh, yes...yes my lady."

Lieve'tel lowers herself down, using the hand in his hair and a slightly breathless voice to instruct him how to please her.

"Little to the left, no, _my_ left, oh, fuck yes. Just...just keep doing that." she moans, hips grinding down.

Bertrand's not sure how long it takes -- minutes? hours? -- because it's overwhelming, she's overwhelming, but in a good way, he supposes? It's weird, not being the center of attention. Being...well, being used. Is it wrong that he's also enjoying this?

Eventually Lieve'tel lets out a low keening groan and he feels her shudder on top of him. She quickly rolls off, still trying to catch her breath. Bertrand's still trying to catch his, as well. She pats his cheek gently. "Good boy. You do learn quickly, I'll give you that."

"Th-thank you." Bertrand says, voice a hoarse croak. Lieve'tel lets out a slightly girlish giggle, patting his cheek again, this time with the added bonus of a burst of coolness that tingles in his throat. He coughs a couple of times as Lieve'tel swings herself over his thighs, one hand wrapping around his cock.

"Hmm. Well it's not the worst I've seen," she tells him and the shudder of embarrassment that rushes through him only makes him that much harder.

Lieve'tel laughs softly. "Oh, Master Bell. You are so easy to read," she says, stroking her hand lightly up his cock.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Bertrand protests.

"Of course you don't," she says. "But, as I said before, I require you for a specific purpose. You are at least proving to be somewhat adequate at consolation." She's still gently stroking his cock, and Bertrand bites at his lip, unwilling to ask for more.

"You're learning. I'm impressed." she says, keeping her touch gentle and slow.

"I...I want..." Bertrand trails off, cheeks flushing under his facial hair.

"You may ask; that doesn't mean I'll acquiesce, but asking is alright,” she says.

Bertrand swallows a whine at the slightly bored tone in her voice as her fingers still slowly stroke his cock.  "I..." Bertrand takes a deep breath, "I would like to...to come. Please?"

"That was a very pretty request," she says.

"Thank you?" Bertrand stammers. He never knows what to say. It's so odd, how she undoes him. No one is supposed to be able to do that. He’s the one who’s supposed to do that.

"I require more...consolation...first, though," she says before switching positions, poised to take him in. "You won't come until I say so, will you?"

"No, my lady." Bertrand replies, voice trailing off into a moan when she slowly sinks down onto him. He's not sure why she holds such away over him, makes him want to do as she requests, makes him want to be better. Which is odd for him, but not as unwelcome as he would have thought a week ago. He's drawn back to the situation at hand as she moves and flexes around him, the tight, wet heat of her making him clench his fists in his bonds. He wants to touch her, to feel the smoothness of her skin that is broken occasionally by old battle scars.

"My...my lady, may I...may I touch you?" Bertrand gasps out, gritting his teeth when she clenches around him once more.

Lieve'tel considers, turning her head to the side in a way that reminds Bertrand of a bird. A raven, he supposes, given her patron. "You have been fairly good. I suppose you may," she says. She flicks a hand and he feels his bonds loosen.

Bertrand flexes his fingers for a moment before running his hands down her body, slowly, carefully, almost worshipfully. "By all the gods, you're lovely," he says.

"Thank you," she says, and he sees a faint blush color her cheeks.

His fingers trip across her sides, finding the pucker of a large slash wound on her left side. He slides them down to her hips, holding on as he moves on him, her own hands planting in the middle of his chest.

"I...I would like to hear the story of some of these," Bertrand says, thumb rubbing over the obvious mark of a magical burn on her hip. For once he’s not thinking entirely about how he could repurpose those stories to advance his own reputation, either.

"Perhaps. If you're very good." Lieve'tel says, winking at him. She grabs one of his hands, guiding it to the apex of her thighs, breathy voice instructing him on how she likes to be touched.

As Lieve'tel moves faster, clenches tighter, her voice breaking into moans and gasps, Bertrand's counting backwards in his head and biting at his lip, trying to keep from coming as he continues to touch her. This is wonderful torment and he doesn't understand why he loves it so much. He looks up at her, watching as she throws her head back, her long black hair swirling around her like a cloud of feathers. He twists his thumb, pressing a little harder, and she cries out sharply, and he almost comes undone then and there.

He's gnawing at his bottom lip as she stills above him, trembling as he tries to keep his own orgasm from slamming into him. She props herself up on her hands again, her smile soft as she looks down at him.

"You've been very good,” she coos as she slides off of him, dragging a whimper out of him.  She lays on her back, legs spread, hair haloed out on the pillow under her head. "Come here," she says, two fingers hooking under his chin to guide him on top of her.

"May...may I come my lady?" Bertrand asks, voice shaky.

"Very well," she says. "I suppose you've earned that much."

"Thank you," he says as he pushes into her.

She gazes evenly up at him, wrapping her legs around him, hooking them over his thighs.

"May I...may I kiss you?" he asks. He's not sure why that feels so oddly intimate given everything they've done, and yet…

Fingers wrap around his beard and he's pulled into a kiss, quickly overpowered by Lieve'tel. Bertrand isn't used to someone else being in charge, but something in him revels in it. He sinks into the kiss, hips moving in a stuttering rhythm. Lieve'tel twines the fingers of her other hand in his hair, tugging gently to break the kiss.

"Not bad, Mr. Bell." Lieve'tel says, slightly out of breath.

Bertrand rests on his forearms, lips trailing along the pale column of Lieve'tel's neck as he finds a rhythm that draws a small pleased noise out of her.

"You are a quick learner," she purrs, sliding a hand down to where their bodies are joined. "I'll assist you this time, though."

Bertrand keeps moving, idly kissing at her neck and her collarbones, nuzzling softly at her breasts, utterly lost in sensation, utterly lost in this moment where nothing else exists save the two of them. He wants to come -- oh, gods, does he ever -- but she just feels so good. Pleasing her feels so good.

A hand slides over his shoulder, nails dragging across his skin as she sighs quietly. The need to come has almost become background noise, his thoughts and senses overwhelmed with her scent, the taste of her skin, the way she feels around him.

"That's it, just, oh...oh a little faster," Lieve'tel pants and Bertrand can feel her fingers moving more quickly between them. He tries to match the pace, grunting against her neck when she bites into his shoulder. The feeling of her clenching around him again and the bite of her fingernails into his shoulder finally tip him over the edge and he moans, the sound muffled where his face is pressed against her skin.

Bertrand manages not to collapse on top of her after he comes -- he is a gentleman, after all, at least in some respects -- and instead rolls off of her, flopping onto his back and attempting to catch his breath. He can hear her breathing start to slow as well. He closes his eyes, trying to convince himself that all of this has just happened. A moment later he feels the bed shift and assumes that she's getting up to leave -- it wouldn't surprise him given how things have gone-- but instead he feels the light weight of her head on his chest, her hair brushing over his shoulder.

"My lady?" he says quietly.

"Hush," she says. "Just hush."

Bertrand slowly curls his arm around her shoulders, worried she may shove it off at any moment but she merely sighs, settling more heavily against his side. The weight of her on his chest is oddly comforting and he strokes a lock of hair that is dangling over his fingers. It doesn't take long for sleep to find him, the last couple of days have taken their toll, and the last thing he knows is the scent of her--an odd, old book smell--wafting into his nose.

When he wakes up again, she's gone, and he hates how much his heart sinks. _Bertrand Bell does not feel bereft at such things_ , he tells himself. It doesn't work. He hates himself even more when his heart soars as she comes back into the room, wrapped in a robe and toweling at her wet hair.

"Well, that Percival All the Long Names may be a bit of a prat, but the hot water here is quite excellent," she says. "You've got time for a bath before dinner if you hurry."

"That honestly sounds lovely. Uh, which way to the baths?" Bertrand asks, tugging his trousers on and shrugging into his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned.

"Two lefts then a right. You can't miss it." She tells him, sitting at the small vanity in the corner before brushing out her hair.

"Thank you." Bertrand says, turning to leave. He pauses at the door, glancing back over his shoulder to drink her in. "My lady...uh..may I...that is, would you be amenable to accompanying me to dinner this evening?" He gets out in a rush, his heart pounding.

"Very well," she says. "Do hurry, though. I don't want to be late."

Bertrand manages not to get lost, even if he doesn't quite remember how many lefts and rights he's supposed to make. There are robes in the bathroom, and he returns to find Lieve'tel dressed and sitting in a chair by the bed.

"Here, let me deal with that," she says, casting a cantrip to clean his shirt and trousers."You can't go to dinner wearing half of Pandemonium's dust."

"Thank you. I'm...I'm quite tired of sand and dust." Bertrand says as he pulls on his clothes, running fingers through his, still damp, hair.

"Oh no. Come here." Lieve'tel says, standing and meeting him halfway between where they were, fingers coming up to comb through his hair until it's styled to her liking. "Very dashing. Now let's go. I'm famished after our exertions."

Bertrand can feel his cheeks heating up as he offers her his arm. She takes it, her hand laying against his forearm as they make their way downstairs. Perhaps Whitestone isn't so bad after all.

"It's good to see you," Percival de whatever his name is says to them as they make their way into the dining room where some members of Vox Machina have already gathered and begun eating. "Please forgive my wife; she's feeling a little under the weather and is lying down."

"Of course," Lieve'tel says, exchanging a knowing glance with the little gnome girl that makes Bertrand feel both confused and left out. "I'll be sure to say my farewells to her tomorrow."

"You're leaving?!" Bertrand blurts out, and then he's pretty sure he's going to die of shame on the spot.

"I was assigned to assist Vox Machina in retrieving a soul. Now that that's done, I must return to my duties," Lieve'tel says crisply before taking a drink of her wine.

"Ah. Will...will you be traveling back to Vasselheim then?" Bertrand asks, heart sinking to what feels like his toes.

"Yes. I'm expected back in two days time. I was hoping to make use of your teleportation circle? If you have one here." Lieve'tel says to Percival.

"Of course. I'll have someone show you where it is." His tone is formal and stiff and Bertrand sits up a little straighter, ready to defend the woman sitting next to him if he needs to. A hand lands on his arm and he looks at her, sees the subtle shake of her head and relaxes a little. Where did that come from? He wonders to himself, the almost instinctive need to protect someone other than himself.

"Whitestone is quite lovely," Lieve'tel says calmly as she cuts into her meat.

"It is now," Percival says, and even Bertrand isn’t oblivious to the sadness in his eyes.

"I know it was not always so," Lieve'tel says quietly.

"That is putting it mildly," Percival says, and then the subject is quickly changed to something more benign.

"It was very kind of you to attempt to defend my honor," Lieve'tel says later as she and Bertrand are walking back to her -- their? he wonders -- chamber. "But unnecessary."

"They should be kinder to you," Bertrand says.

"I remind them of someone very dear whom they just lost, and even though I do, they brought me back from the dead at great personal cost," Lieve'tel says. "We are even."

Bertrand pauses at the door to the chamber, unsure if he is still welcome. Lieve'tel looks back at him, having stepped forward into the room. "Are you coming, Master Bell? I'm not sure I've been fully _consoled_ after our experience," she says, grinning at him.

He has to stop himself from just rushing inside as he watches Lieve'tel undo the clasp on her robe, the fabric falling to the floor in a heap. "I shall endeavor to provide my assistance however you wish, my lady."

"I'm sure you'll prove to be most helpful, young man," Lieve'tel says.

"Why do you call me that?" Bertrand asks as he begins to strip off his clothes.

"Because to me, you are one," she says with a shrug.

"It just sounds...like I'm some callow youth instead of the silver fox that I am," he says with a touch of his previous bravado peeking through.

Lieve'tel arches an eyebrow at him, her eyes giving him a once over as his clothes fall to the floor. "Silver fox indeed. Come here. Let's see if you can remember your lessons. Young man."

Bertrand's nose wrinkles a little, those two words having more of an effect on him than he would like but he goes, looking down at Lieve'tel. "What...ah...what would you have of me my lady?"

"Don't loom," Lieve'tel says, and walks over to sit on the bed.

"I can't help it," Bertrand protests.

"Then kneel," Lieve'tel says, snapping her fingers. "Let's see if you remember my instructions from earlier today."

Bertrand falls to his knees, wincing a little when they impact the stone floor.

"Ridiculous man, don't injure yourself." Lieve'tel chides him, rolling her eyes as he shuffles forward until he's right in front of her. Her fingers grip his hair, one leg draping over his shoulder as she drags him closer.

"You could be a little more gentle," Bertrand says as her fingers tighten in his hair.

"You could be a little more focused," Lieve’tel says, pressing his face more firmly down.

Bertrand's hands hover above her skin, unsure what to do with them until she huffs, free hand grabbing his hand and guiding it to her hip, "You may touch."

He leans in and licks gently at her clit, senses full of her scent and taste.

"I am not made of glass, Mr. Bell," Lieve’tel says.

"I was trying to be a gentleman," Bernard protests.

"A gentleman is precisely what I do not require," Lieve’tel replies.

Bertrand looks up at her as he goes back to his task, a little thrill running through him at the obvious pleasure on her face. Her heel digs into his back, spurring him on as he tightens the grip on her hips, dragging her closer to his mouth.

“Now that’s more like it,” Lieve’tel says, voice soft and slightly breathless as she rocks her hips up against his mouth, moaning loudly when one of his hands trails down her thigh so he can carefully press two fingers inside her.

Bertrand loses time again, not sure how long he kneels for her, hand and mouth working in tandem until she comes with a sharp tug to his hair and a hissed out groan. Her hands tug him up onto the bed and he lets out a pained grunt as he straightens his legs out, flexing his left knee. Cool hands cup his knee and he feels that same cool power wash through him, the pain disappearing in a moment.

“Thank you, my lady,” Bertrand says.

“Of course, Master Bell. I’m not quite done with you yet, so I need you in peak condition.” Lieve’tel says with a small smirk on her face.

“Right,” Bertrand says, swallowing nervously.

“Oh, don’t look like I’m about to eat you!” Lieve’tel says. “It’s not like we haven’t done this before.”

“You are a bit...er…” Bertrand trails off, trying to find a word that won’t insult her.

“Imposing? Daunting? Stern? Terrifying? I’ve heard all of those before,” Lieve’tel says. “I wouldn’t have lived this long if I hadn’t become those things.” She smiles at him, and it’s still slightly unnerving.

She pulls him on top of her, legs draping around his hips and he pauses for a moment.

"What's wrong?"

"Uh...I...um...should we take some kind of precautions?" Bertrand squeaks. “Should we have...before?”

Lieve'tel laughs, "Oh you sweet boy; don't worry that pretty head of yours. I'm a cleric; it's old hat."

"Al-alright I was just making sure. I'm an adventurer, can't have little Bertrands running around." Bertrand blusters.

He shifts his hips forward until he can sink into her, his eyes falling shut as the feeling overwhelms him briefly. Lieve'tel pulls him down until he's covering her petite frame with his own, surprisingly strong hands gripping his shoulders. He starts to move, picking up his pace until a hand pats his cheek to get his attention.

"This is not a sprint, Bertrand. No need to hammer away like I'm a sword on an anvil." Lieve'tel says and Bertrand blushes hard, the shame threatening to send him rushing off right then and there, pleasure be damned.

“Don’t even think about it,” Lieve’tel says, and Bertrand can swear that she can read his mind. It’s uncanny. He nods, biting at his lip and slowing. “That’s better,” she says, stroking a gentle hand along the side of his face. “You do take direction, at least.”  
  
“Thank you?” he says again.

She merely smiles up at him, leaning up just a little to press a gentle kiss to his lips

He loses track of time again, falling into that pleasant daze where it’s just the two of them again. She doesn’t tell him not to, but he finds himself holding back until he’s sure that she’s peaked at least twice and then waits for her breathy encouragement before he comes.

“You promised to teach me the wisdom of the ages,” he says a little while later, when they’re still tangled up in the sheets.

“And I haven’t?” she says, arching an eyebrow at him. “I would say you’re much wiser than before you met me. At least in some matters.”

“I would not disagree, my lady,” he says.

She laughs softly before lifting her head to fix him with a hard stare. “I will even give you one more piece of wisdom: if I find out that you have been spreading tales of this particular aspect of our adventure far and wide, I will find you, no matter where you are, and you will regret your folly.”

“I would not -- I would never --- a gentleman adventurer does not do such things,” Bertrand says hastily.

“Of course not,” she says, settling back down again, her head on his chest. “But it’s good to have such things clarified.”

The next morning, only Percy and Cassandra are at the breakfast table, engaged in either banter or squabbling -- one can never really tell with siblings. They both greet Lieve’tel and Bertrand politely, thanking them again for their assistance.

“I’ll be ready to leave after breakfast,” Lieve’tel says. “Will you be accompanying me back to Vassalheim, Master Bell?”

"Yes. Yes, I think I will, my lady." Bertrand replies, his heart warming at the tiny grin he receives in response.

He's not sure exactly what his future entails, and that terrifies him much less than he expected, but he thinks that perhaps the occasional visit to Vasselheim will be met with open arms. He just hopes he doesn’t have to bathe in the blood pool first.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Come join like-minded shippers in the newly formed Lieve'bell server!
> 
> https://discord.gg/kMYVvV


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